Morning Ritual

In this space called 47, Lynn and I want to present, as honestly as possible, what it is to be a woman in her late forties.

In that spirit I need to share my morning ritual. My day begins early with a cup of coffee and a cigarette.  Coffee drunk and cigarette smoked on our back verandah, sometimes in the most freezing of conditions.

I started smoking when I was 17. Gave it up for each of my pregnancies. Gave it up for good after Margot was born.  For seven years.

Last year, on the day when my world caved in on itself, I drove to a friend's place armed with a six pack of vodka coolers and a packet of cigarettes.  I only managed one cooler and two cigarettes that night.

However as the weeks went by and my misery deepened, the cigarettes became a part of my life again.  The slow drag in, the slow exhale out.  The assisted breathing. Ironic on so many levels.

I still smoke, despite my life being more settled.  Since I weaned myself off the anti depressants, I use the cigarettes to alleviate the familiar old nervy stomach.

Our children are not thrilled by my smoking.  I will give up.

Just not yet.